Beating the Bad House Elf
by Catatonic Muse
Summary: Written for the Expecting Rain's Cruel and Unusual Pairings Challenge. Warnings: Explicit references to Necrophilia and Pedophilia. Voldemort/Dobby's Corpse


Written for the **Cruel and Unusual Pairings Challenge **from **Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful****  
**874 words

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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**  
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**Warning**: This piece is VERY disturbing, with explicit references to necrophilia and pedophilia. Not meant for younger audiences. The pairing is **Voldemort/Dobby's Corpse.** You have been warned.

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**Beating the Bad House Elf**

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Voldemort looked down at the small corpse in disgust. He had attempted to summon the stupid thing in the hope that the Potter brat would be holding it. Unfortunately, all he got for his troubles was Bella's knife. He plucked it from the folds of the rags the thing was wearing and idly spun it between his fingers.

If not for this elf, he would have Potter and his friends. If not for this elf, he would have won. He would have had nothing standing between himself and immortality.

With an inarticulate yell of rage, he threw the knife at the elf. It thudded dully into the thing's flesh, but it gave him no real pleasure. He wanted to bring this elf back and kill it himself—slowly, this time. Ever so slowly, and relish the look of hopelessness in the thing's eyes before they went dull. He wanted to watch the elf beg for mercy. The very thought made his anatomy jump to attention.

He twitched. Where was Bella when he needed her? Oh, right. He had tortured her and sent her away. He should have waited to torture her until later. Then he could have gotten double the pleasure out of her. As it was, she'd be no use to anyone for hours.

Voldemort was not used to being denied anything. In a fit of fury, he turned around. "_Crucio!_" he yelled.

The small body convulsed. Watching it, Voldemort felt an electric shock shoot down his body and pool at the base of his stomach. This would not do. Torturing this...thing was only making him more excited, not relieving him. He looked down, not surprised to see that his need was apparent. One could not be imposing in front of Death Eaters like this.

What to do, what to do. Lord Voldemort would not stoop to the level of school-age children and...beat the bad house-elf, or whatever they were calling it, nowadays. He sat on his throne abruptly. Now, who to call?

Bellatrix, as already stated, had been duly tortured, as had been the rest of the Malfoys. Severus—no, he was busy at the school. Pettigrew was far too loud the one time Voldemort had used him. Fenrir was away on a mission and was not likely to be back for far longer than he was willing to wait. Rudolphus and Rabastan were good as a pair, but Rabastan was with Fenrir. Nagini was hunting at the moment, and he didn't trust her around his little one when she was hungry. He didn't want to take the time to break in a new Death Eater.

But wait—he could nip over to Azkaban and pay a visit to a certain loyal follower of his. Barty Crouch Jr. certainly had no use for his body, anymore. Voldemort stood up abruptly, ready to apparate away, then stopped. When one was, shall we say, indisposed, apparation became a dangerous business. The chances of splinching became much higher, and with nothing but water for hundreds of miles around Azkaban, well, he didn't want to risk it.

What to do, what to do? It appeared that he had no choice other than, he shuddered, 'beating the bad house elf.' He opened his robes slowly—he couldn't believe he was about to do something like this—when the corpse caught his eye.

Beating the bad house elf, eh? Well, it had to have gotten that name for a reason. Since there was no other choice...

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He thrust into the corpse quickly, and caught his breath. It was so tight that he could feel the skin splitting around him. As he continued to thrust in, he closed his eyes and saw the face that was ever out of his reach.

Piercing green eyes, staring back at him, watching Voldemort as he stepped over the corpse of the boy's mother. He could feel the small body underneath him, almost imagine that it was, indeed, the brat. His face contorted into a sneer as he pounded harder and harder, eyes still closed, relishing the feeling of his journey made easier by the thick liquid.

As he neared his release, he saw the brat as he'd been just a day before, hair longer and more messy than ever, eyes just as piercing as they had been the first day they had met. He gripped the thing's body tighter and felt bones snap.

Yes, he had been stunning even that fateful Halloween night. With a groan, he climaxed into the body.

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As he pulled out, he noted the contrast between his pale skin and the bright red blood. He swiped his finger over his arm, shivering, as he examined the scarlet mark it left behind.

He stripped off his robes to be cleaned or incinerated and dropped them there in the middle of the throne room.

As he turned to leave, the twisted, broken body of the house elf entered his line of sight. He smirked. Yes, whoever made up that phrase had certainly known what they were talking about. He would certainly ask Lucius or Bella for one as soon as they were able to function again.

He walked out of the throne room, wondering vaguely what it would be like with a live one.

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